Leonard's sealed in his room, the door locked so that only Jim or Spock can override the code. He's given Chapel and M'Benga strict orders not to comm him unless it's an emergency, and his comm is across the room, buried under a pillow so as to muffle it if it goes off. The room is dim, and silent.

He's wearing Spock's meditation robe, although he's caught him doing this in various other states of dress; still in uniform, completely naked, in his workout pants, in his boxer briefs, and wearing his dress uniform. Leonard felt like wearing the robe made it more authentic, however.

There were pillows set up on the floor, facing the wall. He'd seen Spock sit facing the wall for hours, in a deep trance. Never once had he sat facing anywhere else.

Settling himself down on the pillows, Leonard folded his legs underneath him like he'd seen Spock do numerous times, wincing at the uncomfortable position. He straightened his back, rested his wrists on his knees, palms up, letting his arms and hands go limp. He exhaled slowly, willing the tension out of his body. Feeling relaxed enough, Leonard closed his eyes and tried to shut his mind off.

It went surprisingly well. At first.

Leonard found it easy to shut his brain off, to quit thinking about all the paperwork he had left to do, what patient was going to need a new type of medicine, how to cure the particular strain of avian flu making its way through the alien members of the ship thanks to the last away mission, and how he was going to write the schedule for next week's shifts. Instead, he focused on the silence, letting it wash over him, only mildly interrupted by the quiet hum of the ship. All of the tension left his body, and he felt himself drifting off into a bit of a trance.

Then something happened.

The tension didn't come back, per se. But while his mind was blissfully blank, a stray thought worked its way into his brain. Or rather, an image did.

One second, he was thinking of nothing, his mind thankfully black and blank, the next, the image of Spock laying on their bed, dark eyes turned towards Leonard as he worked his way down the vulcan's body, lips pressing against each inch of exposed skin.

Leonard's eyes flew open, and he shook his head, annoyed.

"The fuck did that come from?"

Shaking his head again, as if to clear the image from it, Leonard relaxed again, and tried his best to get his mind empty again.

His brain, however, had other ideas.

Images cropped up each time he reached the trance-like state again, images of Spock wrapped around him possessively in his sleep, images of quick trysts in supply closets while on shift, of days off spent in bed, perfectly content with the silence and each others' company.

Following these images were ones of times when Spock had come back from away missions, bruised and bloody, arm broken, still with the stoic expression on his face, never giving away just how much pain he was feeling. But Leonard could feel it through the vague beginnings of their bond, the dull ache in his own arm enough to have him screaming at the nursing staff to clear the way and secure a bed for Spock, who insisted that he was fine.

Leonard's eyes flew open and he growled at the empty space around him, thoroughly irritated that his silence was being interrupted by all of the mental images.

Shifting, he realized that both his ass and his feet had gone numb. Groaning, he tried to stand up, only to find his feet would not support him, and he stumbled back down onto the cushions.

Just as he sat down, he heard the door woosh open, and felt the tingling sensation at the back of his brain that meant it was Spock joining him.

"Ashaym?" the deep voice asked softly, his footsteps unusually loud in the otherwise quiet room.

"How in the fucking hell do you do this?" Leonard asked, turning around to face him and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Do what, exactly?"

"This! This meditation crap. I got all relaxed an' then couldn't sit still, and my ass and my feet are numb, and I can't even stand up now!"

Spock's lips twitched, suppressing a smile.

"I could instruct you in how to turn your mind off completely, ashaym. And I would advise using thicker cushions when sitting on the floor."

"Oh, whatever," Leonard snarled, grabbing the nearest pillow and chunking it at Spock's head. He easily caught the pillow, setting it down on the bed and stepping closer to Leonard. He knelt beside the other man, bringing a hand up to brush his fingers over the furrowed lines of his brow.

"You must learn to relax, Leonard. It is a state I have not seen you in outside of our bed."

"For good reason," he grumbled, crossing his arms again and doing his best to remain cranky, something he found difficult when in their quarters together.

"Allow me to teach you, Leonard. You would greatly benefit from the meditation."

"Yeah yeah. Whatever you say."

Leonard felt his entire body being to warm up, and found it difficult to bite back the smile threatening to take over his face.

"Cheater," he growled.

"A trick I learned from a friend," Spock murmured, closing the distance between them and kissing Leonard gently.

Leonard decided that if this was his reward whenever he tried Vulcan meditation, he'd continue trying.

No matter how many interruptions his brain provided.